We Used to Read Comic Books

Somewhere above Metropolis

Superman’s red cape is flapping in the breeze.

He is listening in vain,

for someone to ask for his help.

Across the ocean

where water and radiation have taken everything

except hope,

no one is asking for help.

An ordinary man

resigned to his own death,

A death that could be quick poison

or slow cancer.

wakes from a tormented sleep

And fills the cracks,

plugs the holes

with his body.

His finger plugging the holes

of the nuclear dam.

Somewhere in the Fortress of Solitude

Superman cooks nachos

and settles down in front of the television.

No one is asking for his help.

He’s not the hero anymore.